A Mischief in the Snow - By Margaret Miles Page 0,36

first.” He lifted the bundle of cloth and untied the pair of knots, then took the hatchet by its shaft. Though the flat blade seemed wicked, it was the darker, pointed end that captured the room's attention.

Wondering what the constable's reaction would be, Charlotte was surprised to see John Dudley take a step backward, and wipe his lips with a trembling hand. His eyes stared around the room. With what seemed a great effort, he swallowed, but said nothing.

“Let's lose no more time,” said Longfellow, quickly wrapping the tool again. “If I might, Rowe, I'll leave this in your custody. Come with us if you wish. But I suspect a man of your experience might as well act on his own. Someone, too, should warn the village, if we assume we still have a murderer in our midst. I'm not at all sure they would welcome my suggestions…”

“Then while I am out looking for answers, I will advise them myself,” said Rowe. “For I am sure, sir, they will listen to me!”

Longfellow now noticed his neighbor, who had been unusually quiet. “Mrs. Willett? Would you like me to find someone to see you safely home?”

“No, thank you,” she replied with a tense smile. “I need to make a few purchases; since I'm not far from Emily's shop, I'll go there first.”

“All right, then.” Again, he consulted his pocket watch. “It's nearly eleven. Gentlemen, let us be off. The sooner this tragic business is settled, the better!”

Chapter 12

MUCH EARLIER, ACROSS the village bridge, Jack Pennywort made his way into the Blue Boar Tavern. On entering he saw no other customer. Most of the village, after all, took its breakfast cider, ale, or small beer at home. He'd even arrived before Mr. Flint and Mr. Tinder, a thing he was glad to see, for it allowed him to take one of the elders’ Windsor chairs at the fireside, where high flames already fought against the growling wind.

Jack had not come far, but it was still enough of a distance, he supposed, to call for a medicinal drink, while he went on with his task. Mr. Longfellow had given him a few pieces of good silver to spend as he liked—though his wife had demanded much of it back for the household. But he'd been assured that the telling of an exciting story would bring its own reward. He hoped so, as he attacked the final chapter of the volume he'd been given the afternoon before.

Not much of it yet made sense to him. Skipping over the blustery preface, he'd decided the place the author described, this Otranto, lacked nearly all the charms of his own village. And its duke seemed an ogre, ordering others around as if he owned the place. Jack thought he'd like to see the fellow try this behavior in Bracebridge. Still, Duke Manfred and Mr. Hutchinson, the lieutenant governor, might find they had a few things in common. It seemed the duke had set quite a few of his countrymen looking for ways of getting their own back, as well.

While Jack considered further, Phineas Wise entered from an adjacent kitchen. A Yankee in look and habit, the landlord had already been busy that morning, fashioning a stew from deer trotters, a few turnips, some rubbery parsnips, and other odds and ends he suspected would give the whole a strong flavor. With some ale slop and rinds of old cheese added at the finish, Phineas believed it would satisfy the hungry farmers who would come in to hear the day's news—and to get away from their wives, as Jack must have wished to do quite early this morning. Today, though, the little man had brought with him something quite unusual. A novel, it seemed to be! Would wonders never cease?

“Good morning, Mr. Wise!” Jack said eagerly, holding up a shilling. “A pint of cider to start, please.”

The landlord frowned as he took up the coin. He placed it between pointed teeth and bit down gently. Then his face took on a smile, while he slipped the silver into his pocket.

“Gladly, Jack,” he replied. “But where did this come from? You weren't working on the ice yesterday?”

“No, but it is from Mr. Longfellow. He gave me a j-j-job to do, reading this b-book for him.”

“What's that?” asked Wise. He was sorry to hear Jack's stutter returning. It had improved in the past few years— but perhaps this new responsibility had given him more than he'd bargained for. Extending a long,